


The Gleam in Your Eyes is So Familiar a Gleam

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Fantastical Photos [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Fairy Tale Style, Horror, M/M, Magic, Mild Gore, True Love's Kiss, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The flashvibe/sleeping beauty fusion nobody asked for, with a few twists. Inspired by the bae's glorious photoset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gleam in Your Eyes is So Familiar a Gleam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



> Whaaaat psssshhhh I didn't listen to Once Upon a Dream on loop pfffft nooooo
> 
> Hey bae! Here's your surprise! I hand-wrote some of it beforehand, so hopefully that somehow improved things. Hopefully. I wish you a good day, as I wish all of you a good day!

ONCE UPON A TIME, IN A FAR-AWAY LAND, there lived a prosperous King and Queen. These monarchs possessed their hearts' every desire: enormous riches, the love of their people, and above all, an heir to their throne. Truly, there was nothing else for which they could ask. Thus, when the Queen fell pregnant again, she and her husband found themselves almost at a loss for what to do.

"Well," the King decided, "we shall do exactly what we did for our firstborn! However, everything shall be of a simpler fare. After all, Dante is our heir, not this one."

His Queen readily agreed, and so celebrations began. As per the King's orders, these celebrations included few dinner courses and even fewer dignified guests. But, because these feasts and balls were so small, they allowed the King and Queen tons peak with more of their subjects face-to-face, as well as increase public anticipation for the birth of this unborn child. And so, before this infant even came into this world, the entire kingdom adored him more than they could ever love Prince Dante, the heir.

Seeing this, Prince Dante was overcome with jealousy. In his rage, he stole to one of the castle's many abandoned rooms. There, he summoned the renowned sorcerer known only as Rathaway. Notorious for his great and terrible power, Rathaway was a selfish creature with a heart corrupted by darkness. He, unlike the Good Fairies who inhabited the castle, would know what was to be done about this child.

He appeared before Prince Dante in swirling shadow filled with piercing screams. The sheer intensity of these screams alone sent the child prince to his knees.

"Get up," Rathaway snapped at his prostrated form, "what you hear is nothing compared to what I suffer. Did you not heart me, stupid child?  _Up_!"

Prince Dante stood on shaking knees. Gathering himself, he began to tell Rathaway his plight: "I have summoned you—"

But Rathaway cut him off with a horrible, screeching laugh. "Idiot Prince," he hissed, grinning viciously, "did you honestly think I would come and listen to a child's petty woes? No—I only needed a way past the ancient wards protecting this wretched castle. By calling me of your own free will, you have released me of those bothersome restrictions. And now, I can destroy my nemesis any way I wish."

Realizing his mistake too late, Prince Dante cried, "My father will never fall to a creature like you!"

Rathaway scoffed. "Is everyone in this kingdom as ignorant as its little Prince? I have no desire to kill the King at present. My rival has more magic than any of your limited minds could comprehend! His powers gift him with True Sight, and he doesn't have to lift a finger!" his voice stabbed the air in a drowning echo. After a moment, the sorcerer took a deep breath. Sufficiently calmed, he continued, " _That_ is my rival. The one who will beg for death at my hands." A slow, sinister smile recaptured his pale face. "But I suppose you are once again more fortunate than others, little Prince."

"Why?" stuttered Prince Dante.

"You shall discover my rival's identity on your  _dear sweet_ sibling's Name Day. Until then,  _Your Highness_ , I bid you adieu."

In another shattering wisp of shadow and screams, Rathaway disappeared.

The Good Fairies informed the King and Queen in frantic tones that Rathaway's chains had been broken. Terrified of the consequences of his actions, Prince Dante told his mother and father that he had witnessed one of those very fairies summoning Rathaway, speaking of destroying the sorcerer's rival. The King and Queen instantly believed him, and as he did, assumed Rathaway's mysterious rival was the King.

Thus, the poor fairy, who called herself Catherine d'Hiver, was executed. The night after her wings and head burned, she came to Prince Dante in a dream. Her once rich red hair and kind eyes had turned white as snow, her wings crystalline glaciers protruding from her back.

"Prince Dante," she intoned, her words crackling with the ice of Death, "you have wronged me in the most unforgivable way. Your heart, once innocent and pure in its youth, has been corrupted by your deed. So I will ensure your jealousy will never be quenched."

Suddenly, a dreamscape formed. Prince Dante found himself standing in the throne room. A cacophony of peasants and a cluster of nobles filled the magnificent chamber, all fixed on an intricately carved wooden crib sitting next to the King and Queen. Nestled inside that crib, tucked in linens, was a lovely infant, lovelier than any in the kingdom. All but this babe were frozen, as if time itself had stopped.

Catherine d'Hiver approached the newborn. White magic swirled in her hands. "Oh, little one," she crooned, "I may not be able to stop what will befall you, but Death has granted me one more spell. With it, I promise to help you.

"Dear sweet Prince, if your future is shrouded in darkness, a ray of hope there still may be in this, the gift I give to thee. As it was the pure love of your people that granted you your power, so it shall be your True Love who will find the strength within to reawaken the joy you are meant to bring. May your dreams be the beacon to guide Love's path, and may it find you on the swiftest feet."

With these words spoken, the fairy's spirit gently covered the infant's eyes. Once her magic planted its seeds, she rounded on Prince Dante once more.

"As for you, Prince Dante," she said through clenched teeth, "your sibling's tale will forever cast yours into obscurity. Try as your King and Queen might, they will never raise you above the one whose future you have risked for your own selfish desires. Such is my revenge upon you, and such is the balance which I restore."

Prince Dante woke in a cold sweat. The spirit left him, but he was hardly at peace. For the terrible truth had been revealed to him: his sibling—his  _brother_ —was the rival Rathaway sought to destroy. But more importantly for him, not only had Catherine d'hived ensured the sorcerer's failure, she told Prince Dante of the future which now awaited him due to his foolishness. The very thought of such a future sickened him as it frightened him.

The next morning, Prince Dante approached his mother and father with a suggestion: since this child would not be the kingdom's heir, surely they could at least secure an alliance? It was the wicked boy's thought that if his brother-to-be had a betrothed, he would leave Prince Dante's life before Catherine d'Hiver's predictions could come to pass.

Naturally, the King and Queen congratulated their dear son on his foresight. So proud were they that Prince Dante was given the choice for his sibling's future home. Of course there was only one possibility in Prince Dante's mind: the kingdom farthest from his was also prosperous, and had a son only just born. He reasoned to the King and Queen that such an alliance would surely benefit all—two great kingdoms coming together under one banner, despite their distance, would amaze and terrify their enemies. Not to mention, he added, the financial benefits that would be granted from the marriage. Hearing these reasons, the King and Queen eagerly consented, and a message was dispatched to this far-off kingdom.

Although surprised by this request as their fellow royals, King Henry and Queen Nora were happy to accept the proposal, on the condition that the wedding would take place in their kingdom. Their beloved Bartholomew was, after all, their heir. Once this request was agreed upon, King Henry kissed his wife goodbye as she traveled to the other kingdom with their son to await the birth of Prince Bartholomew's future spouse.

Mere days after the arrival of Queen Nora and her entourage, Prince Dante's mother gave birth. With dread and envy festering in his darkening heart, Prince Dante gazed upon his brother, Francisco—the loveliest of babes in the whole kingdom.

Prince Francisco's Name Day arrived with multitudes of loving peasants and a handful of dutiful nobles and members of the gentry. Queen Nora presented Prince Bartholomew, bending over Francisco's crib so the royal infants could see each other.

Something astonishing happened when they did. Both boys burst into delighted giggles and reached for each other. It was as if they were saying, "There you are! How wonderful to see you again!"

Queen Nora took this as a good omen for their union. When she related what had happened, the peasants cheered. Once she took her seat, the two remaining Good Fairies curtsied before the cradle. They were Mistresses Iris and Jessica, and as was custom, had gifts to bestow upon the child.

"Hello, dear Prince," Mistress Iris said, smiling at the baby, "my gift shall be that of benevolence: may your have a merciful heart, and the strength to do what is right."

Her purple magic engulfed the laughing Prince Francisco, coloring his cheeks and brightening his smile. Next, Mistress Jessica wiggled her fingers in greeting.

"Welcome to this world, Your Majesty," she grinned. "My gift for you is the gift of intelligence: may your mind shine as that of a brilliant star."

As her yellow magic encompassed Prince Francisco, a blast of cold air broke through the throne room's enormous doors. Screams bellowed in its wake, and Prince Dante among others were filled with terrible dread.

A figure strode from the shadows. He was pale, dark of hair and eyes, with a staff of metal and a cloak of crow feathers. When he approached the thrones, none dared speak, none save for the fairies.

"Rathaway!" Mistress Jessica whispered.

"What does he want here?" Mistress Iris growled.

Rathaway smirked, for indeed it was he. "Well, well," he said, "quite a gathering you have assembled here: royalty, nobility, the gentry—" he chuckled at the multitude of peasants, "how quaint. Even the rabble." The peasants shifted, but did not risk speaking. Rathaway continued, "Although I must confess how  _distressed_ I was upon not receiving an invitation."

"You weren't wanted!" snapped Iris.

Rathaway laughed again. "Not wanted? Oh  _dear_ , what an awkward situation. And here I had prepared the perfect gift for  _Franciscito_ ," he cooed with false sweetness. As soon as they heard these words, the Good Fairies rushed to surround the cradle. Rathaway, of course, was hardly deterred.

"Listen well, all of you!" he roared, slamming his staff against the floor as a steward would quiet a crowd. Complete silence fell. "The Prince shall indeed grow in intelligence and gentility—invent things no one dared imagine, and accomplish much at a young age.  _But_..."

Rathaway summoned his magic. "Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he will have driven mad every person who looks into his eyes. His True Sight shall become a curse! And you,  _Your Majesties_ ," pointing his staff at the terrified royals, "will be the ones who prick his finger on a spinning wheel! And when he does, he will sleep for a hundred years, bleeding drop by drop! You will watch him waste away for the rest of your miserable lives!"

Prince Dante blinked. In that instant, he saw Rathaway's curse seep into his little brother's eyes; however, he also saw Catherine d'Hiver counter the darkness with her light. She met Prince Dante's gaze—and was gone when he reopened his eyes.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Word of Rathaway's curse spread across the land. The betrothal between Princes Bartholomew and Francisco was broken, the latter locked away in the castle's highest room of the tallest tower, blindfolded almost immediately after Rathaway disappeared. The King and Queen began searching for a solution to their son's terrible fate.

Mistresses Iris and Jessica told the distraught King and Queen that their only unerring option was to find their son's True Love, for it was, as they said, more powerful than any curse. In the meantime, Prince Francisco would be kept locked away, with only a few nurses to attend him until he was old enough to be without their constant vigilance.

And so, Prince Francisco grew into a brilliant child. He told whoever spoke with him to call him Cisco. When asked why, he merely replied that his imaginary friend thought it a better name, and that he agreed. What imaginary friend? Why, the one who visited his dreams!

Indeed, Catherine d'Hiver's magic worked. When Cisco laid down to sleep, he awoke not in his tower, but in an unfamiliar castle's garden, with a precocious boy who called himself Barry. Sometimes they played through entire nights, nothing outside of laughter exchanged between them; other times, they spoke of mathematics, science, and astrology, as Barry too possessed a prodigious mind, perhaps not one of Cisco's caliber, but more than enough for him to understand concepts when Cisco explained them once.

Barry had no qualms about welcoming Cisco into his heart. With him, Cisco learned what friendship, hugs, kisses, laughter and smiles were. He also learned how to love something that did not come in bound leather or wood. Nevertheless, he thought in his heart that Barry did not truly exist.

Real or imaginary, it mattered not, for Barry kept Cisco's heart from darkness as the search for the young Prince's True Love became increasingly desperate. Countless candidates from every part of the realm were taken to the highest room in the tallest tower. There, they kissed the Prince, and removed his blindfold.

Some tore their own eyes out, while others flung themselves from the tower's only window. A few even managed to rip their skin and hair off before they were forcibly removed from Cisco's presence. Each night following these encounters, Cisco would attempt to hide his eyes from Barry, as if his curse would somehow carry into his only happy memories. Yet Barry would remove his hands and kiss each eyelid until they fluttered open. When they did, he smiled his beatific smile and said hello.

Cisco did not know what his eyes looked like, but he knew there was no comparing to Barry's green irises. One day, he would be able to dream about those eyes forever. How he was so certain he knew not, only that he was.

His sixteenth birthday came to pass. In his dark fortress, Rathaway spent the fateful day scrying, waiting with bated breath for Cisco to prick his finger. His spindle had been planted; all the King and Queen had to do was find it and give it to their son. Seeing their distraught expressions, Rathaway grinned. At last, he would be able to steal the True Sight for himself and leave the host to an agonizing death.

And that was what happened. The King and Queen saw no other choice. Either way, their son was doomed—better to let him pass in his sleep, where his imaginary friend awaited him. They had a servant fetch the first spinning wheel she could find, and to carry that wheel up to Cisco's room. Once he slept, she was to dress him in his finest clothes and tuck him into his bed. The servant obeyed.

Cisco heard footsteps on the stairs as she approached. Once his blindfold was secure, he bade her enter. Next, he heard a  _thu-thump_ of something being delicately placed in the middle of his room, as well as the creaking of what sounded like a wheel. He smelled dust and wood too. Something in the back of his mind warned him not to touch, but he found no reason why he should not.

In short order, his finger found Rathaway's cursed spindle. One tiny bead of blood escaped, and Cisco collapsed.

The servant carried out the rest of her orders. She dressed the Prince in his finest clothes, an embroidered golden yellow tunic and fine breeches with polished leather boots, carefully avoiding his sluggishly bleeding finger all the while. This accomplished, she hefted him onto his bed, drawing the dark purple wool blanket up to his waist. She draped his left hand over his stomach, and his injured right hand she dangled over the side of the bed. Finally, and with palpable reluctance, she removed the Prince's blindfold.

An audible sigh of relief escaped her when only closed lids greeted her. She made a hasty exit shortly after.

And so, Prince Francisco slept. Rathaway was victorious.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Cisco's slumber entered its tenth year. Servants sometimes aired out his room, swept the floors, even shaved his face and cut his hair. By now, he had grown into a young man, and his finery was lengthened to compensate. Yet, for all their efforts, none of these servants dared trespass on the puddle of blood that grew with the Prince. For every day that passed, Cisco became paler, more corpse-like. Some servants stuck a razor under his nose and were astonished when they found him to still draw breath.

Yet the Prince was oblivious to these attentions. He was dreaming. Most of what he saw were terrible, nightmarish images—two people sewn together, crying to Cisco for mercy; a youth made of different people's limbs; children feasting on a man's living flesh. All of this and more haunted him in a near constant, agonizing loop...until Barry called his name.

More than anything, Cisco yearned to stay in that garden with the youth he had come to love so deeply. He measured the passage of time by Barry's height and face, recalled happier dreams with Barry's warmth and laughter. And yet, these moments of respite seemed to shorten each time. All too soon, Barry would kiss him goodbye and run into the light, plunging Cisco back into darkness.

As time wore on, Cisco began to despair. More than that, he began to wish for death.

Following his habit of telling Barry anything and everything he felt or experienced, he related his wish during their next meeting, which coincided with his birthday. Horror-stricken by this confession, Barry snatched him into his arms and gently rocked him as a mother would her child.

"Don't think like this, Cisco," he pleaded, "I will no longer wait for Fate to bring us together. How foolish I've been—as soon as I wake, I'll find you. We can make this right!"

Cisco's eyes stung with tears. "But this is all just a dream, Barry.  _You're_ just a dream. How can we meet if you aren't real?"

"If I'm—Cisco, I  _am_ real!" Barry pulled back, cupping Cisco's face. "I am a man of flesh and blood, and I love you as surely as the sun rises each morning."

"If that's true, then how do you know _I'm_ real?"

A tearful grin answered the Prince. "Because I could never have imagined someone like you." Tears escaped Cisco's tired eyes. Barry wiped them away. "You're exhausted, Cisco. Here," and he unfastened his red cloak, rolling it in his lap as a makeshift pillow, "I will watch over you."

Cisco feared that if he closed his eyes, he would reopen them to another bout of anguish. Still, he allowed Barry to settle his weary head. He drifted off to Barry's repeated promise: "I will find you. I will find you. I will find you."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The first happy memory Prince Bartholomew Allen ever had held no scents, sights, sounds, or tastes. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, however, he felt tiny phantom fingers brush against his own, and a warm light encompassing his entire being. It was this same feeling that carried into his blissful dreams.

His father never spoke of Barry's infancy. Queen Nora died during those early years, and the subject pained him. Yet, when Barry woke to the sunrise, Cisco's sorrow fresh in his mind, he resolved to broach the topic. He knew he had met Cisco before, and not just in their dreams; that one happy memory could not be replicated, nor could his love be imagined. Oh, why did he wait?!

When his son asked after the journey Queen Nora took to that kingdom near the sea, King Henry seemed to age ten years. Still, Barry forced himself to persist, telling himself over and over that he did this for Cisco. Soon enough, he saw the fruits of his labor. King Henry related to him how he narrowly escaped a terrible fate.

"Father, what are you talking about?" Barry demanded.

"You were once betrothed to the doomed Prince Francisco of the House Ramon," King Henry revealed at last, "in light of Rathaway's curse, your mother was able to break the engagement."

Fran... _cisco_...Barry hardly remembered Cisco's true name, he had referred to its shortened version for so long. How could he not have known?

"And...Prince Francisco is the one who has been cursed to sleep these ten years?" he asked the King, voice trembling with emotion.

"Son, are you alright?"

"I..." Barry shoved to his feet, "I have to go."

Alarmed, King Henry stood as well. "Go where?"

"Cisco. I-I have to help him!"

"Cisco...? I thought he was part of your imagination."

Barry shook his head, fastening his red cloak. "You have just proven how very real he is, father. I have to go to him—he needs my help!"

Before King Henry could so much as think to ask questions, Barry had disappeared in a flash of lightning. For he, like Cisco, also possessed magic. He could command lightning and run on the swiftest feet. Within minutes, the castle of House Ramon loomed over him.

Heart pounding, Barry did not bother presenting himself to the King and Queen. He needed to reach Cisco first, to undo this dreadful curse and ensure nothing so terrible ever befell him again. In a beat, he was racing up the stairs to the highest room of the tallest tower, phasing through the oak door—

"Oh, no," he whispered.

The situation was so much worse than he previously imagined. Cisco's pallor had worsened a great deal. The blood pooling next to and under his bed was enough to supply a young boy. In his state, he looked to be on Death's threshold.

"Cisco!" Barry charged forward—only to have thorns unsheathe from the tower's stone walls, obscuring Cisco and blocking his path. " _Cisco_!"

Rathaway's torturous screaming shadows sent Barry into a whirlwind of agony.

"I should have known," came the sorcerer's voice, "True Love is so annoyingly tenacious. So, you think you can save your precious Prince? We shall see about that."

Cold engulfed Barry. Suddenly, he found himself standing far from the castle, high up on the Forbidden Mountain, where Rathaway dwelt. The creature himself stood across the summit, which bordered a treacherous cliff.

"How about a game, Your Highness?" Rathaway called over the blistering winds. "If you succeed in killing me, you may have your Cisco." Barry drew his sword. "But if I kill you, I will bring you back as my slave. And ninety years from now, I will take you to Cisco's bedside, where you can watch him breathe his final breath. What do you say?"

"I say you will die, Rathaway!" Barry yelled. Using his lightning, he rushed the sorcerer head on.

Yet Rathaway had no survived for so long using just his magic. He easily dodged Barry's reckless attack, countering with one of his own. Barry tried again, meeting the same result. They exchanged blows, staff against sword, only to have Rathaway sending Barry into a fit of unspeakable pain with a sonic blast of magic. Regardless, Barry kept getting back up, his advanced healing serving him well. Rathaway rolled his eyes and continued to rain blow after blow.

Their conflict continued for the better part of an hour, neither conceding. Whenever Barry thought he could no longer stand, memories of Cisco surfaced behind his eyes. Rathaway in turn remembered his greed for Cisco's True Sight. Renewed, they would attack once more.

Until, finally, Rathaway tore a gaping hole in the ground beneath them, opening a chasm where no light could reach. Barry raised his sword again, ignoring the shaking in his limbs.

"You really are hopeless," sneered Rathaway.

In one quick movement, he snatched Barry's sword and drove the blade into the Prince's heart. With a careless kick, he sent Barry into the chasm.

"I'll let you wallow in Death for a bit," he called. "See you at sundown!"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

But Barry did not die. However far away, his heart beat sluggishly on, in a body still locked in slumber. Therefore, when he fell, he did so gasping for life. There was no sound of impact of a corpse colliding with solid ground, no pitiful whimper for lost love. Barry used what speed he could harness in his state and launched himself at the chasm wall.

His hands grasped something made of wood instead of rock. Splinters stabbed his fingers, but Barry held fast. It seemed to be attached to something...but what?

The answer came in the form of a mighty groan of mechanisms activating, and Barry himself sinking downwards with a panicked shout. He lost his grip on the handle—for it was indeed a handle, a lever—only to be saved by scorching heat.

Above him, a young man's voice spoke: "A sword to the heart, and yet he does not die...fascinating." Then he seemed to berate himself: "Now is not the time to focus on that! We have to help him! It's time for that son of a bitch to get what's coming to him." Barry wheezed. "Don't worry. We'll get that sword out quick as we can."

In a blur of hazy moments, Barry found himself flown back to the surface and revived. Lightning sewed his wounds together with care, allowing him to at last look upon his rescuer.

It was a man dressed in dark brown. His eyes were completely white, and he was on fire. Barry made a surprised noise, unable to form words.

"It's alright," the man assured him, "I promise, we're here to help you."

Barry coughed, "W-what—name?"

In response, the man studied his flaming hand. "We are two as one," he said, "Sir Ronald and Doctor Stein. We are known as—"

"Firestorm," Barry panted. He stared at the creature in awe. Everyone in the realm knew of the Firestorm Legend: long ago, an alchemist found a way to achieve transmutation. Someone stole his work, forcing him to take drastic measures. Along with a fellow prisoner, a knight of great renown, the alchemist merged two minds into one powerful being. They earned their name for their fire.

Firestorm smirked. "So you've heard of us? It's always nice to be remembered. But what is your name, young man?"

Rubbing his chest, Barry replied, "Prince Bartholomew of the Central Plains."

"Central Plains is a kingdom? My, how times have changed." Firestorm shook their head. "Rathaway is a cruel warden. He has kept us his prisoner for who knows how many centuries. More than that, he has used his corrupting influence to take what was most precious to both of us in turn. If you want him dead, we will gladly assist you."

"Thank you," Barry croaked. Firestorm stood, offering their hand. "But how do we defeat him?"

"Simple: you can't."

They whipped around at the sudden voice. Rathaway stood, cloak blowing in the wind. He held no staff this time; his hands were covered in sharp metal gauntlets.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite pet," he sneered at Firestorm. "And you," to Barry, "how did you survive? Never mind. I can remedy that easy enough."

Firestorm stepped in front of Barry. "Go," they ordered.

Barry's eyes widened. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Your Majesty," Firestorm said, stepping towards Rathaway. Their fire mounted from their bodies, as if in preparation for eruption. "This wretched creature took our True Loves. Doctor Stein's Clarissa was his first victim; my Catherine was his latest. Let her be the last shred of happiness he steals from anyone. Let  _us_ take care of this monster. Now go!"

Barry staggered a few steps, but still could not bring himself to obey Firestorm's command. Rathaway cackled.

"I have indulged you idiots long enough!" the sorcerer shouted, "If you insist on making this difficult for yourselves..." he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were vertical slits of angry yellow and black. His voice deepened exponentially: " _So be it_."

Barry's jaw dropped as Rathaway's body contorted and grew. Scales broke through his skin; his nails flew off, replaced by giant talons; his back shredded open to make room for vicious black wings. When all was said and done, human skin and clothes littered the ground in blood and other liquids, dwarfed under a gargantuan black and green dragon.

Once more, Firestorm yelled to Barry, " _GO!_ "

Without thinking, Barry's legs began to move. As he ran, he chanced to look over his shoulder—just in time to see a new dragon, with scales as white as snow and wings crystalline glaciers, breathe blue flames at Rathaway.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Barry didn't stop running until he returned to Cisco's room. In swift movements, he cut through the thorns blocking him. The second he could squeeze through, regardless of how many cuts he sustained, Barry shoved his way to the other side, collapsing onto the edge of Cisco's bed.

"Cisco!" he cried like a starving man presented a feast. His hands, now healed over with sealed splinters, grasped Cisco's left hand so he could press kisses to it. "I can't believe this is happening," Barry whispered, "after so long wondering what you really felt like..." he had no words to describe what it was to finally touch his True Love. "Don't worry, Cisco. Everything's gonna be okay.  _You're_ gonna be okay. I'm not leaving you again, I promise."

With gentle fingers, Barry switched his grip to Cisco's right hand, slowly lifting it. Taking a handkerchief from his tunic, he removed the spindle and applied pressure to the wound.

Yet Cisco still did not wake. Barry did not lose hope. He merely smiled at his love, cradling Cisco's bleeding finger against his chest, and murmured, "More powerful than any curse..."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Cisco's.

A rush of light burst from their contact, obliterating every ounce of evil within its ring. Prince Dante suddenly felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted from his chest; Rathaway screeched as Firestorm bit into his scaled neck and scorched his innards; Cisco's eyes flew open.

Barry broke the kiss to see him. Adoration brightened his features in a soft glow. Cisco stared at him as if he had been encased in darkness all his life and had finally seen the light.

"Barry?" he whispered, fingers hovering over the other's cheek.

Overcome with joy, Barry felt tears spring to his eyes. "Yeah, Cisco," he laughed, brushing a few wayward strands from Cisco's eyes, "I'm here. I'm here."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Sir Ronald and Doctor Stein skinned Rathaway alive, burning the remains just to make absolute certain the sorcerer could never return. Afterwards, they returned to human form and released the rest of Rathaway's prisoners. Some had already been turned into nightmarish creatures who begged for death, but most remained intact.

One of these prisoners was a man in tattered blue clothing. Although weak from hunger, he called to Firestorm to halt a moment.

"There are messages for you from beyond," the man told them. "Considering what you've done, I figured I owe you enough to tell you."

What a  _nice_ man. Ronald, please.

Silently, the man offered his hand. Once their hands joined, his blue eyes glazed over, no longer focusing on Firestorm. In a dreamlike voice, he said, "Clarissa wishes for her Marty to know that she is alright, that he should not worry about her anymore, the stubborn oaf." Doctor Stein's pain and disbelief filled Sir Ronald's body. Steaming tears began to fall from Firestorm's blank eyes.

Yet this stranger was not finished. "And Catherine—no...Caitlin." Sir Ronald heaved a wet gasp. "Caitlin wants to tell her Ronnie that she has never stopped waiting, and never will. That there is still much for Firestorm to accomplish, and she is looking forward to watching over her husband as he soars. But..." the stranger tilted his head, "but both are shouting to all who will listen that...they love you. They love you so very, very much."

Firestorm choked out a sob. The man gasped, captivity having shattered his composure enough to send him stumbling back a step.

"Did you get your messages?" he asked, "I haven't had an occasion to use my power in twelve years. Communication might get crossed."

"No, we," Firestorm smiled through their tears, "we heard them loud and clear. Thank you, Mister...?"

"After freeing me, you get to call me Len," the man replied.

"Len? And you're a necromancer?" Len nodded. "Are you then, by any chance, Leonard Rory?"

Len smirked. "My reputation precedes me."

"You are even older than I am!"

"What can I say? Necromancers are tough to kill. We have a lot of spirit."

Firestorm did a double take. "Did...you just...?" Len raised an eyebrow. "Never mind. Can you find your way out?"

"I believe so."

"Good. And thank you again."

"No problem, kid."

"I'm not a—well," Firestorm grinned, "I suppose to you, I am a kid."

"Damn right you are. Now get going; Caitlin's bitching about something to do with a cyst. No, wait...Ci—circui—Cisco? What the fuck is a Cisco?"

Firestorm shook his head. "I think I have an inkling. Enjoy your freedom, Len."

"Same to you, fireball."

"Fire _storm_."

"I know what it is."

With a scoff, Firestorm took to the air. Len sighed through his nose in quiet relief; he  _despised_ the heat.

"Lenny?"

Oh.

"Lenny—that you?"

On second thought.

Slowly, Len turned. His breath left him.

"Mick...?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Cisco and Barry were wed, with Prince Dante as his brother's Best Man. Firestorm was at last able to separate; Doctor Stein resumed his work in Central Plains while Sir Ronald was appointed Head of the newlyweds' guard. Should the world ever need Firestorm again, they would be ready and waiting.

Finally, Cisco was able to experience that castle garden with his love. Barry showed him every blossom and leaf, despite having done so countless times in their dreams. Cisco didn't mind.

"So," he said once they sat down in their spot for the first time, "What do we do now? I mean, your father's got plenty of years ahead of him, and we're basically a magical duo."

Barry laughed, burrowing in his lap. "I actually have an idea about that."

"Oh yeah? Let's hear it."

"Cisco, my love...how do you feel about fighting crime?"

**And They All Lived Happily Ever After**

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
